


the perfidious act of entrapment

by arthur_pendragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Banter, Canon Era, Early in Canon, Fluff and Humor, Frottage, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 16:51:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18642169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthur_pendragon/pseuds/arthur_pendragon
Summary: Merlin’s smirk faltered. “It’s an insult,” he said. “The lady Morgana taught it to me, to say it to you whenever you irk me. Which, I’ll add, isall the time.”





	the perfidious act of entrapment

**Author's Note:**

> supposed to take place in series 1 or 2. enjoy! :)

(Much, much later, Arthur wouldn’t even remember what he’d said that had caused Merlin’s outburst. But the outburst? That he’d keep with him for life.)

* * *

 

“Bite me.”

Arthur blinked. “What?”

“Bite me,” repeated Merlin, crossing his arms and looking smug.

With servants like Merlin, who needed actual court jesters?

“And just _why_ should I bite you?”

Merlin’s smirk faltered. “It’s an insult,” he said. “The lady Morgana taught it to me, to say it to you whenever you irk me. Which, I’ll add, is _all the time_.”

“What’s it even supposed to mean?” Arthur asked. The mention of the ‘lady’ Morgana had given him all the clues he’d needed, but it couldn’t hurt to see Merlin fidget for a bit.

“It’s s’posed to be similar to _bugger off_ , she said.” Merlin blushed saying _bugger_. What a girl’s petticoat! His virtue was in danger of being sullied — _sullied_ — by Morgana if she carried on with being herself around him.

“Then why don’t you just tell me to bugger off?” This was a sensible, logical question, and it certainly had not been posed to entertain the enquirer with the sight of Merlin growing redder.

“It’s ruder!”

“So I irk you constantly” — Arthur rolled his eyes — “but not enough for you to risk a sojourn in the stocks. I see. Since you’ve all but commanded it of your prince, I shall deign to bite you.” That’ll teach him to whinge about Arthur with _Morgana_.

“You’ll _what_?” Merlin yelped. Arthur was hugely cheered by the alarm on his face.

“I shall grip some part of you with my teeth, taking care not to make you bleed,” Arthur explained, with what he supposed was infinite patience (Merlin was a bit thick, clearly, and needed to be handled with kid gloves). He made a show of smacking his lips and took a predatory step forwards.

Merlin, because he was an idiot, took a complementary step back and banged into the closed door. “Ow.”

“Don’t move,” said Arthur, warm as wind chill (and thoroughly enjoying this acting lark). “You’re in trouble now, Merlin. Face your fate like a man.”

Merlin said nothing — not even when Arthur came to a stop mere inches away from him. Not even when Arthur bracketed his head with his hands on the door. He merely watched Arthur, pensive rather than scared now.

“Where will your prince bite you?” Arthur said. “Say something, you clod.”

“On the neck, sire, if you please,” said Merlin. Impossibly, there was a pestilent tinge of challenge in his voice, completely contrary to his blushing maiden act from before. As if Arthur would refuse to do this possessive, loverly act because it was too… possessive and loverly, when on the whole he couldn’t stand to look at Merlin for more than five minutes a day (something to do with Merlin being annoyingly charming, annoyingly annoying, and a bloody sorcerer he’d had a huge row with over the sorcery — but that bit wasn’t important).

Sure, Arthur had been aiming for maybe a couple of fingers or one of those rosy cheeks, but if Merlin wanted him to be one of those mythical bloodsuckers or possibly a possessive lover, who was he to refuse? At least Merlin hadn’t said _arse_.

Arthur would have given anything for Merlin to have said _arse_.

“I shall grant your request,” murmured Arthur, self-acknowledged twat extraordinaire. And then he leaned in and —

Well, he didn’t actually injure Merlin, of course. He didn’t let his teeth break skin, only sank them in enough for Merlin to feel the pressure and perhaps wince. Then he’d do it again harder, until Merlin begged for mercy; surely he didn’t want to spend an eternity with Arthur latched onto him like this, so close that their body heat mingled and Merlin’s breath ruffled the hair above Arthur’s ear.

It was difficult keeping his tongue pulled back for so long, so Arthur let himself swipe at the patch of Merlin’s neck he’d closed his mouth over.

And Merlin _sighed_.

And Arthur’s princely brain went on strike.

So he did it again, tasting more salt, wetting Merlin’s skin. Merlin sighed louder. Arthur made to unlatch himself from Merlin because they were teetering on the edge of a precipice over which Arthur wasn’t sure Merlin wanted to fall, but right then Merlin’s fingers came to rest in Arthur’s hair, and as if by instinct, Arthur sucked. It was tough because his teeth were still fast on Merlin and he had to breathe shallowly through his nose, but hell, Merlin’s reaction to that —

“Mmm,” said Merlin, and Arthur had no choice but to moan as well, outright pinning him to the door with all of himself. Merlin seemed to have no complaints as his other arm flew up to wind itself round Arthur’s shoulder, and there was something, something about that action, something possessive and loverly —

“Did you plan this,” growled Arthur, but it came out more as a series of muffled noises, vibrating over Merlin’s neck. Merlin keened and wound a leg around Arthur’s, bringing their hips together and — oh dear gods — he was _hard_ and Arthur was also hard and now they were slowly rolling their hips against each other, grinding all filthily, thudding rhythmically against the wood —

“You wouldn’t look at me for more than five minutes a day,” gasped Merlin. “And I realised you have _feelings_ for me and I could take advantage of your primitive brain to get you to stand closer than twenty yards to me —”

Arthur clearly wasn’t dry-humping him forcefully enough.

“— oh, _Arthur_!” And Merlin shuddered, coming in his pants.

Arthur considered that revenge well taken until Merlin dragged his face up to kiss him, at which point he promptly came in his pants as well. Merlin kissed him through his climax, deep and thorough, and then rested his forehead against his own as they breathed heavily.

“Bit quick,” he noted, once he’d caught his breath.

“Says the idiot who lost it first,” Arthur snapped.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure we’ll have plenty of chances in the future to find out.”

“… will we?”

Arthur wanted very much to lie, but in the end he capitulated to Merlin’s anxious eyes on him. “Why else would I leave that big a mark on you?”

“It _was_ very possessive, almost as if you were my lover,” Merlin agreed, sounding unbearably fond.

“Well, I am now, the one and only,” said Arthur, narrowing his eyes, “seeing as you’ve entrapped your prince.”

“I am very manipulative and I have no regrets,” Merlin retorted, smiling. “Gonna chop my head off?”

“After I went through all the effort of marking its owner mine? Not a chance in hell.”

* * *

 

(Arthur would keep everything that happened after the outburst with him for the rest of his life, too.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know what you thought!


End file.
